


love is (only skin deep)

by Maelstrom_Prince



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Coming Out, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay Character, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Oneshot, Praise Kink, Smut, Yosuke exaggerating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 00:19:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19366516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelstrom_Prince/pseuds/Maelstrom_Prince
Summary: It wasn’t the fact Yosuke felt the need to reassure them all thathe’s straightandhe likes girlsat every opportunity that happens to present itself.But rather the fact that he’s currently sitting on Souji’s lap, their lips interlocked and his eyes wrenched shut-That gave Souji Seta the idea Yosukemightbe a little in denial, and may need a helping hand.





	love is (only skin deep)

It was never a question on whether Yosuke likes _ girls, _ which is possibly a contributing reason as to why it made things all the more confusing.

 

Of  _ course,  _ he liked girls. 

 

He openly and unabashedly admits that if Rise sneezed on him he’d probably say thank you. He doesn’t deny that he likes walking behind Chie in a group, because everyone knows that she’s spent countless hours re-enacting Kung Fu movies- and it shows. Next to Yukiko’s slim, skin-toned stockings, her bare sunkissed thighs are almost hypnotising in the rhythmic bounce of muscle as she steps. 

He doesn’t even flinch when he openly flirts with Yukiko, completely undeterred by her rejections because  _ anyone  _ can agree that cherry pop red looks adorable dusted across her pale cheeks. 

You’d think it was saving Kanji that caused Yosuke to become the most confused with his situation. Running through a Bathhouse after a guy whose shadow cooed at them with taunting flesh- but in unfortunate actuality, it made Yosuke more confident in his line of self-conscious denial.

 

_ No way am I anything like that! Just thinking of it makes my skin crawl.  _

_ People like that actually exist?  _

 

_ Disgusting _

 

No, it wasn’t until they met  _ Naoto  _ that it really became a problem.

  
  


They’d known each other long enough that everyone had gotten it imprinted into their heads that Naoto was  _ male.  _ But after they’d saved her, Yosuke was too exaggeratedly relieved for it to have been  _ entirely  _ over the fact they had saved her life. Of course, he played it off without a blink of hesitation, arguing that he was just _ so happy _ they were making real progress in the case.  

Souji probably would’ve believed him too, if Yosuke hadn’t of cornered him alone in the men’s bathroom at school the next day. 

It was during class, so the likelihood of being walked in on was low. Everything seemed normal for the most part. _Belt, fly, relief._

 

It really should be common sense, but everyone knows you never use the urinal  _ directly  _ next to someone unless it is literally the last option available. But here they were, not a stationary’s ruler’s length from each other. No big deal. They’re friends.

 

Best friends, actually. It wasn’t that weir-

 

“Uh-” Yosuke clears his throat, risking turning his head to the side as the sound echoes off the tiles.

And now they’re looking at each other. _Dicks out and direct eye contact_ is not a good move, and maybe meeting in the bathroom wasn’t the brightest of Yosuke’s ingenious ideas. 

 

He regrets everything. 

 

They both play it off as him coughing and don’t speak about it again. 

 

Yosuke still comes over after school though. They talk about games and about how much of Aiya Diner's Mega Beef Bowl Challenge they can get through before they finally reach the T point at the end of the North Shopping district where their paths home split. 

They both slow their steps to a gradual pause, conversation dying into a careful and hesitant intake of breath like the following words threatened to leave them breathless. 

 

“Can I come over?” It’s simple and nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

They both know Dojima-san only ever comes home late on Fridays. 

 

“B-because Teddie has been super needy lately and he’s, like, always in my space nowadays at home, you know? So um, yeah..” The explanation wasn’t needed, they both know he has no reason to say no to Yosuke, but on some level, they both seem to acknowledge that the excuse isn’t for Souji at all. 

They both walk back to the Dojima’s household with their steps in sync and wordless humid air standing between the space of their sides. Yosuke likes to pride himself on the fact that he doesn’t get nervous easily, but there’s more hesitance in his heart staring at the splintered hardwood entrance of Seta’s home than there was when hauling himself through a television into a parallel universe. 

 

That fact alone unnerves him. 

 

Nanako’s sunny grin and plead to partake in a shared dinner helps to drown out the loud and intrusive slamming of his heart against his chest. 

He briefly wonders if he should just stay downstairs all night. Maybe sleep on the couch for safe measures. The thought of being left alone in a room with Souji has his nervousness tipping the tides in his bladder though, and he’s quick to excuse himself from the room. On his way out Souji catches his eye, and they both stare before Souji lets out a deep- almost  _ amused- _ sigh, as he turns to Nanako sitting across from him. 

 

“Hey, thanks for ordering dinner Nanako-chan. You okay watching your show if Yosuke and I go upstairs now?” He says calmly, tone light and even. How does he keep his voice level like that all the time? He’s so sure of himself it grates on Yosuke how he can just flaunt confidence like it’s oozing from his skin. 

 

She gives a quick nod, shoulders rising as she radiates a sleepy smile their way. “Mhm, see you in the morning, Big Bro.”

 

For some reason, the staircase has more steps than before, and it takes longer than he remembered to reach the top. Once they do, the silence settles in Yosuke dreads the wave of awkwardness that it brings hand in hand. It never comes through, and like always, Souji quickly peels out of his cool quiet shell when back in his own space. They talk about menial things like school, glazing over the serious topics for more enjoyable ones. Eventually, they settle side by side on Seta’s small loveseat to watch a bad spin of a classic detective movie. It’s nothing too interesting, which leaves room for conversation had they decide to engage in one. 

For the most part, they don’t. Not until the itching question from earlier gives a violent shove at Yosuke’s willpower, and it tumbles over his lips before he can catch it. 

 

“What do you think of Naoto?”

“Hm?” Souji replies intelligently, idling staring into the television. 

 

“I mean like, he’s- I mean,  _ she’s  _ like, kinda cute, right? Like, now we know she’s a girl.”

Seta rolls one shoulder, as if physically brushing the comment off. “It’s not like she dresses any different.”

“Yeah but, like, now she’s like,  _ actually  _ cute.”

“Was cute before.” He says, tone flat like it’s nothing. How does he  _ do  _ that? 

 

“I mean _yeah_ , but like, everyone thought she was a boy. Don’t even try and lie I know you did too.”

Souji shrugs indifferently. “Point stands.”

 

Yosuke almost snaps his own neck at the rate he turns to squint accusingly at his partner, mouth scrunched up and his lips slightly agape. 

“But, what if she was, like,  _ actually _ a dude?”

 

“Unless it magically changed who Naoto is, why would it possibly change how I see her?”

 

“Because girls have, you know-” He gestures to his own chest, animatedly squeezing the air in front of his pectorals before looking back at Seta to make sure he was looking too. 

Souji raises a single poise grey eyebrow at him. 

Yosuke groans as if physically in pain, dragging his spine down the back cushions. 

 

They’re on different pages, _clearly_. Seta simply doesn’t get it. 

 

At some point, Yosuke’s attention dedicated towards the show slowly fades out. His gaze feels like it’s being agonisingly lured to the boy next to him, like he was the only thing interesting enough in the room to look at. 

 

_Bullshit,_ he says in mantra to himself, mentally tracing the edges of his friend’s face for the fourth time. _Bullshit._

 

_ He’s got a nice face.  _ He thinks. Because it's _Yosuke,_ and creativity doesn't exactly spark in the romance department.

 

But passion and impulse certainly does, and in a moment of boredom and extremely short lasting confidence, Yosuke flings himself from his spot on the loveseat to straddle Souji. 

He doesn’t give either of them to think, and he doesn’t dare question why the other doesn’t even seem surprised, and how palms were so quick to fill themselves with the supporting muscle of Yosuke’s thighs. He’s busy being so, _ so  _ grateful to the seamless transition, completely unrelenting to a moment of rational thought. He keeps his eyes locked shut, almost painful in how harshly they’re squinted in refusal to see what’s in front of him. 

 

If he just doesn’t _ look- _

 

He’s only left with the panting exhales huffing between their uncoordinated kisses. With the hands, oh god. The hands, the hands, the  _ hands.  _

Rough and warm as they press hard into his flesh, desperate to grip what they could lose at any second. Like a heat map he can feel the hot pressure emanating from the trails they leave down his legs. He starts to feel light headed as his lungs start to echo the plead on his lips.

They only briefly allow their mouths to move away with a wet sound, and for a heart shuddering second he dares to think everything is over. The encasing warmth will disappear and their bubble of absolute bliss will burst. He’s proven wrong when he slumps his head to push his nose into the groove of Souji’s shirt collar, and their jaws knock together. Seta is demanding as he forcefully nudges Yosuke’s face to the side, forcing the column of neck to be left exposed. 

They both feel the shiver run down the brunette’s spine when teeth dare to graze vulnerable skin, hiding the veins rushing to abandon blood from his brain. 

He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, and his inexperience and burn of need leave him riddled with bodily urges he can’t even describe. The hands pause, grip barely at the end of his thighs, fingertips digging into the side of his arse, not quite daring enough to cup his flesh. A single thumb is high enough to tease the edge of his shirt, flirting with the prospect of going under. It’s dangerous, all of it. His heart might stop if he opens his eyes or if he focused too hard on those wide teasing fingers. 

His torso rolls forward in an attempt to either hide or press them closer. He doesn’t even hear Souji’s muffled groan at the action, his own heartbeat too deafeningly loud in his ears. There’s a hot breath dusting over his ear, and the rumble a deep sound from Seta’s chest. The sound travels straight downtown. He’s hard, and his pants are way too tight, the position doing him no favours- he can’t imagine the grey-haired classmate to be faring much better. He makes the mistake of squinting open his eyelids to take a daring peek downward. 

 

Perhaps he should feel relief that the feeling was  _ (very-) _ obviously mutual. Gratified he was able to so easily draw such a reciprocated reaction from his partner-, but instead-

 

Instead it just makes him feel sick. His throat begins to close with guilt and slush of disgust.

 

With his eyes open it all seems too real. 

Nuzzled into Souji’s lap like a scared needy  _ girl. Except he’s not a girl.  _ He’s heavy, reeking of sweat and the damp soil from the soccer pitch. There’s nothing graceful, innocent or  _ cute  _ about his throbbing cock pressed painfully against the zipper of his uniform pants. 

He audibly swallows, trying to force the growing lump stuck in his neck down as his Adam's apple bobs. His hands clench, and he briefly wonders when he reached up to bunch them in the shoulders of Souji’s shirt. 

 

“I can’t-” He doesn’t get much further, cut off by a sharp and painful snap of teeth into his neck. His upper body and focus on complaint rips away from its place pressed into Souji’s space. _“Ouch!_ What the fuck-” There’s an offended hiss in his tone as a hand flies up to instinctually cover the wound, briefly feeling for blood. 

There is suddenly a looseness in his waistband that is much needed, but rather uncalled for. Dread threatens to submerge his ever-growing horniness, the feeling gnawing at the bit for what was to come. He feels dexterous hands undoing his belt further, the gentle slide of knuckles over the trail of hair down his navel, ghosting over his skin like they were afraid it’d break.“Mm-” He goes to speak and his voice cracks embarrassingly, not that you’d know he’d felt any shame- it might be physically impossible for his face to get any redder than it already was.  

Maybe he  _ would  _ break. 

_ ‘This is wrong, so, so, so-’   _

 

The words are abruptly brought to a halt when a small nibble shocks him back to reality, wary of the savage bite that came previously. “-Ah, wait,” _ ‘Wait, not stop, oh god please, please don’t stop, I won’t be able to live with myself if you stop now-’  _

A large warm palm cups him through the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs, dick twitching to the jolt of attention. Yosuke doesn’t even believe how the hell someone else’s hand could possibly feel so much better than his own.  _ Hates _ how it's not even bare skin against him yet, and he’s so ready to rock himself further into the hand holding him already. They audibly swallow in unison, and the action of Seta pressing their sweaty foreheads hard together as his other hand keeps a nautiosating grip on the base of Yosuke’s cock is a mixture of comfort and confusion that leaves his mouth dry.

 

“Nhnn..” Yosuke groans, his pelvis gaining a mind of its own as his thighs inch the growing heat between his hips further into Seta's grasp. He seems to wait until Yosuke has set his own shy pace of jutting his dick towards him before he begins to help him along. Agonizingly slow, his fingers dip under his boxers and drag up the underside of his dick, tracing the engorged veins before looping his thumb and index finger around the rim of the glands- squeezing him in a way that leaves Yosuke’s chest tight as he slides his grip down.

 

It's too slow to gain any rhythm and the frantic drum of his heart is pulsing so much faster in his ears. He's so humiliated.

 

He bites into the collar of Seta's shirt to muffle the aching “ah, please, please,  _ please,” _ that somehow slips through the choking restraints on his hunger. A low sound rumbles through Seta's sternum and Yosuke swears it goes straight through him. Warm, thin lips press right against his ear, tickling the shell with his exhales. 

“Good boy.”

 

Yosuke thinks the planet might have stopped spinning for a second. This is the moment he blinks and wakes up from his imaginary world in his head, with the fog over his thoughts, words just for him that only a shadow could possibly utter shamelessly. 

He can't look up because he will search for a pair of glowing yellow eyes, and it might kill him if he doesn't find them. 

 

Seta’s hand finally,  _ (oh, god, finally- ) _ picks up it’s pace, and his grip is so tight that Yosuke thinks he’d feel the fingerprints left behind. Like marks of a lingering pressure, a past trauma, a moment of overwhelming regret as he feels himself unravel down a one way road. 

Heat coils tight in his gut, a flexed elastic band slowly reaching a dangerous limit. 

Seta’s hold around the small of his back becomes the safety bar keeping him running away or flying free as the emotional roller coaster reaches its peak. 

He comes soundlessly, body seizing as the air around them becomes stagnant. For a brief moment of silence in his mind, the fog provides a peaceful release of endorphins that hums in content. He slumps bonelessly against the comforting wall of Seta’s chest, mesmerized by the echoing knocks of his heart against Yosuke’s. He’d never let it free, told himself it wasn’t even his. 

But when the haze clears, and the sensation of the moisture cooling on his scrotum becomes uncomfortable, he jolts to alertness. Yosuke’s heart plummets to the floor as the reality settles in and he’s locked into a limbo of fight or flight. As if feeling the weight of Hanamura’s heart at his feet, Souji shifts first to break the tense moment of anticipation shrouding the room. 

 

He starts with a simple, “Hey.”

 

Yosuke tries to reply but the dryness of his throat catches his words and holds them captive. His throat bobs as his eyes search for anything except the sight in front of him. His grip on Souji’s shirt is released as if seared. 

 

“I don’t-” He tries to deny it.  _ Denial, denial, denial.  _

“I’m sorry.” He quips, throwing himself off his friend like he should’ve sooner. He stumbles backward, almost falling back onto the coffee table as his legs wobble, unsteady. He shoves his pants back up around his waist, uncaring to refasten the belt. 

 

He must look terrible, because he feels _mortified_ , and is helpless to stop it showing on his face. 

 

_ I’m sorry.  _

 

Seta looks perfectly unwavered, like the overreaction was all expected.

 

“Don’t- don’t  _ look  _ at me like that!” Yosuke yells, a surge of panic tugging insistently at his temper.

“How are you so fucking  _ okay  _ with all this? All the time, with everything! With-” He frantically waves his hands around, “-this!”

 

“You think I predicted all this, just laid out this whole situation to trick you into, what, liking me?”

 

“No! No that’s- that’s stupid- I just mean- Why did you say yes to letting me come over?”

 

“Because I like you.” He admits plainly.

Yosuke chokes, coughing like he had physically swallowed the words wrong. 

 

“Why did you  _ ask  _ to come over?” Seta prods intrusively. 

 

“Because-” He begins, waiting for a logical obvious reason to merely pop to mind. When his thoughts abandon him, his palms begin to sweat as he tucks the hem of his shirt.

 

“Because...you’re my friend.”

“You do this with all your friends?” Seta teases lightheartedly. 

 

It’s not much of a confession by anyone’s standards, but it’ll do for now. 

 

Yosuke slowly releases his bottom lip from its prison pinched between his teeth. “No. Just you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I impulsively wrote this about a month ago.  
> Enjoy.


End file.
